


The Cursed Wedding Band of King Malchu the Destroyer

by queer_cheer



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Diary of River Song (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Flirting, Humour, Oneshot, Romance, fic requests, slight bit of drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queer_cheer/pseuds/queer_cheer
Summary: A cursed ring in her pocket, an army of fighters on her tail, and a familiar face at the end of it all? It must be River Song's lucky day.In which River meets the Sixth Doctor, and almost gets distracted.Shout out to the anon on Tumblr who requested River/Six with the prompts “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” + “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Here's the fic!
Relationships: Sixth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	The Cursed Wedding Band of King Malchu the Destroyer

**Author's Note:**

> Some fun and quirky River/Six! Thanks for the request, Anon! Feel free to send over more River prompts/ships/ideas, I've got nothing but time while under quarantine, and writing keeps me sane :)

River Song currently had three problems. 

The first of which was really rather pressing; she was falling — from a pretty daunting height, too. She had nothing to break her fall but a spent evacuation pod with a rapidly heating exterior that was bound to become _in_ terior sooner rather than later. 

The second problem — tangentially related — was that she wasn’t the only thing falling; behind her came about a dozen or so imperialist fighters from Xeron Minor, their small ships armed with shields and weaponry aplenty, all aimed at her. She hadn’t meant to incite rebellion among the native Xerites against the imperialists from the neighbouring Xeron Major, and she certainly hadn’t meant to get caught up in the midst of it all. She’d only been on an archaeological dig, minding her own business, when danger came knocking.

And that brought her to problem three. On her dig, she’d found a ring. It was a pretty old ring, but that isn’t why she took it. No, no, she took it because it was exactly what she’d come for. Everyone seemed to think it was cursed or something, and the lore surrounding it could fill volumes upon volumes and never come close to competition. On top of it all, she was determined to prove there was no such thing as curses — just bad people with patience and a plan. 

Except, she’d run into a very slight snag. 

The ring was most definitely cursed.

Maybe that should’ve been problem one; she was fairly certain it was the cause of her bad luck, after all. Not that she believed in luck. But she hadn’t believed in curses when she woke up that morning, either. Life was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?

A sudden sinking feeling in her stomach brought her promptly back to the real problem one. She was still falling, and her gravity locks were starting to fail. Oxygen would be next. Usually she was fond of saying it wasn’t the fall that killed you, but the landing, but if things kept on like this, she’d be dead long before crashing through the atmosphere of some poor and unsuspecting planet. 

These new-wave escape pods had a computer as a windshield, which was great for navigation until something short-circuits and you’re left flying blind, without even the comfort of the stars for navigation. River’s screen had long since gone dark, and, disoriented, she found herself struck by a moment’s worth of panic at the thought of dying in such a tight and sad little space. At the very least, she would’ve wanted to see the sky. Oh, how she loved the stars! Loved them too fondly to be fearful of the night, as the old poet Sarah Williams had written once, very long ago. River had known her personally. She’d been a quiet and humble girl, much unlike River, but nonetheless, they’d gotten on rather well. 

But now was hardly the time to reminisce about old friends. Or maybe it was the perfect time. Regardless, the stars felt far away, and as she fell, she felt the distance between her and the hopeful glow of the cosmos expand — and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. 

She had a sonic torch of her own invention, but somehow, it had gotten snapped clean in two. She had a vortex manipulator, but the spacecrafts on her trail were emitting high-frequency signals that jammed it right up. Just her luck.

(Thank you, cursed ring. It wasn’t even that pretty. Not pretty enough to be worth all the trouble it caused. A handful of men had said the same thing about River, once upon a time, and so she immediately felt a pang of guilt at saying it about the ring. She knew what that could do to one’s ego, to one’s silly old hearts.)

Focus, she thought. Focus. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end! It can’t end like this. How dull! If I’m going to die, I’m going to die looking at the stars. Not suffocating in a smelly old escape pod!

When she felt suddenly out of breath, she realised she’d been speaking aloud. 

“Oxygen systems critical,” a pleasant voice reminded her, crackling over the speaker. 

“Yes, I’m picking up on that, thank you,” she took a deep breath. The Doctor had taught her about something once. What was it? Respiratory bypass? Time Lord physiology. He’d told her that he’d used it to survive on the surface of Mnemosyne, to avoid being strangled by the Nestene Consciousness, and to retrieve antidotal milk from a queen bat in an airless cavern on Androzani. (What a strange life he leads! Stranger yet that only one of those endeavours had ultimately killed him.) 

A laser missile ricocheted off the flank of her ship, and suddenly, she was spinning out of control, and her thoughts spiraled twice as fast. What was she thinking about? Respiratory bypass, that’s right! She wasn’t even sure if it was something she could do, but she didn’t have very long to wonder, because a second missile hit her ship on the starboard side, sending her spinning again in the opposite direction. She was really starting to wish she hadn’t had that questionable tuna for lunch, especially since it was becoming more and more likely that she’d see it again soon.

“Alright, alright,” she took a breath to steady herself. “You’ve been in worse situations, Professor Song. You’ve had less hope. Respiratory bypass will buy you some time to think. You just have to think, think, thi--” 

Another missile strike. Something started beeping. A thin crack spread across her pod’s darkened display. That wasn’t good, she thought. Respiratory bypass wouldn’t help much if she was getting shot to bits in deep space. 

She was starting to feel afraid. Of dying? No. Death didn’t scare her, but she wasn’t looking forward to the exact moment right before death, because she knew it was going to hurt. 

She shut her eyes.

“Well, Professor, we’ve had a good run,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve done a lot of things — things that no one would believe! You’ve seen such amazing things! Things you ought to feel lucky to have ever seen! The birth of stars, the death of worlds, the absolute stillness of deep space, the chaos of a newborn sun. Sure, there are things I’ll never do or see, now, but that’s life, isn’t it?” She let out a tragic laugh. “Oh, you’ve lived. You’ve lived, and you’ve loved — oh, how you’ve loved him! Loved him in...in these crazy, unbelievable ways that even the sauciest romance writer couldn’t dream of! People will tell stories about the two you — River Song and the madman that married her — and no one will ever know what’s true and what isn’t, because we were so, so unbelievable!”

Her last thoughts would be of him. She always knew that, one way or another. At the very least, she’d die smiling. 

“Lucky fellow, that madman, eh?” 

Barely able to contain a startled shout, River opened her eyes and leapt to her feet. 

What? 

She was no longer in her ruddy little escape pod; instead, she was standing in a vaguely familiar control room. 

“Your little beeper was giving off quite the distress call,” said a curly-haired gent in the most obnoxious coat River had ever seen. “I brought you aboard just in time. You would’ve burnt up within seconds, had I not been there.”

When he smiled, he didn’t do it with just his mouth. No, his eyes grinned, his cheeks grinned, his shoulders grinned. Even the air around him seemed to buzz with some sort of clever mirth. 

River recognised him straight away. 

He was so young! River laughed, partly because she was relieved to be alive, and partly because she couldn’t believe it was this one of him who had saved her. He was too young to have met her yet; she was just a clever stranger to whom he’d feel connected, but never quite know why. She’d have to do something about that, of course. She reckoned she still had a stick of amnesiac lipstick in her pocket. But a little fun never hurt anyone.

“Thank you, sweetie, but I would’ve found my way out of that predicament, if you hadn’t come along,” she assured him. “I’m many things, but I’m hardly a damsel in distress.”

“Hm, yes,” the Doctor sounded thoughtful. “So I take it you were just practising a monologue for your amateur theatre troupe, then? Not talking yourself through the process of dying?” 

The tips of River’s ears suddenly felt warm.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that!” 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, dear. We all say silly, sentimental things when we’re terrified. You kept yourself rather well composed, I’d say.” 

“Takes more than that to terrify me,” she boasted. The subtle tremble in her hands told a slightly different story. “But thank you, nonetheless. Those imperialists were shooting me straight down, and if I’m being honest, I was running low on ways out.” 

“Did they have a convincing reason?” the Doctor sauntered over to his console, flipping a few switches. The circular bits along the wall seemed to emit their own light, casting the console’s pale grey in blinding brightness. River liked her Doctor’s muted orange interior far better. This one just felt so...intense. 

It matched this version of him, she thought. He was intense, too. Intense and flamboyant, but passionate, with a touch of arrogance offset only by how deeply he cared — though he rarely ever let that part show. 

“Well?” the Doctor cleared his throat. River startled.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking. Can you repeat your question?” 

“The imperialists,” the Doctor urged, his attention divided by a seemingly finicky radar. He frowned when the buttons he pressed seemed to do less than nothing. “Why were they after you?” 

River shrugged, watching him over his shoulder. “Can’t say for sure. I broke more than one law while on their planet. I don’t know which one finally pushed them over the edge. I’d say it was either…” she paused for effect. “Robbing a tomb or assisting the rebels.” 

She was grinning, but the Doctor seemed skeptical as he glanced up from his work.

“Quite the rabble rouser, I see,” he muttered. “I’m the Doctor. What are you, Miss...?” 

There it was; his characteristic brashness. River would’ve taken offence, had she not expected it from this face. 

“Professor, not Miss. And it’s Song. River Song,” she held out her hand, and he shook it. She’d make him forget her name within the hour, so she figured it didn’t matter much what he knew. “I’m an archaeologist.” 

“An archaeologist with a penchant for digging up trouble rather than bones, Professor Song?” the Doctor tried out the words with an implacable hesitance, wondering vaguely why her name had such a familiar shape to it, why it evoked the scent of lavender and patchouli, why his lips seemed to know the way hers tasted — Earl Grey tea and the tart bite of lipstick. How curious, he thought. How strange.

“Actually, trouble tends to find me,” she let out a sheepish laugh, hands tucked into the pockets of her trousers. She was fidgeting for the tube of makeup, and when her fingers failed to find it, she started to worry. She couldn’t meet him authentically like this! To have a bit of fun was one thing, but to leave him knowing too much — and surely, she’d said too much already — was a recipe for temporal disaster. Her hearts gave a jolt when she found something, but her hopes quickly crumbled when she realised it was just the ring. The stupid, ugly, cursed ring. 

Well, she’d just have to make do.

With a muffled groan, she pulled it out and held it up to the light. It was made of stone, finely chiseled and formed, its shine untouched by age. The more she looked at it, the more she reckoned it was just about the ugliest ring she’d ever seen. 

“That’s not…” 

“Oh, it is,” she smiled bitterly, with a twinge of wonder. The archetypical expression of a tired academic. “The cursed wedding band of King Malchu the Destroyer, who ruled Xeron Minor with an iron fist. History dictates that he was unfaithful to his wife, and so she called upon the magic of ancient gods and cursed all that he possessed. Over time, treasure hunters have tried to find the pieces of Malchu’s lost fortune, but they were strewn about the universe; some said that if they were ever united, the king’s spirit would rise and Malchu the Destroyer would destroy again. The ring is the last remaining relic, and—.” 

“And you stole it!” 

River’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to tell him it was rude to interrupt, but he knew that, and did it anyway. 

“Someone’s been gathering up all the rest of the king’s old collection — the Xerite goblet of truth, the pendant of chance, the idols of vice and virtue — and if archaeology has taught me anything, it’s that every old legend has a sliver of truth to it,” she went on. “Yes, I took the ring, but I took it because if I didn’t, someone else would’ve, and we don’t want old kings rising from the grave — especially not in the midst of a revolution.” 

“Which you started!” 

“By mistake!” River depended. “You sure do like to focus on the negatives!” 

“Alright, enough. We’ve all got our problems, I suppose,” the Doctor gave his consol a heavy-handed whack. “Blasted thing isn’t behaving.”

“I could take a look,” River suggested, and before the Doctor could protest, she’d bumped him out of the way and took his place, hands wandering masterfully over the controls. He was halfway through with a sentence, telling her something about how Time Lord tech was far beyond her capacities, when the radar roared to life beneath her touch.

Slack-jawed, he let out a dainty “Huh!” 

“Close your mouth, sweetie, you’ll catch flies,” she gave his ascot a playful tug before returning her attention to the ring. “It can’t really be cursed, can it?” 

“How’d you know how to fix the TARDIS!?” 

“So I’ve got the ring. Now what?” 

“No one knows how to fix the TARDIS!” 

“I’ve got to destroy it, but there isn’t much that can melt osmium.” 

”No one can fix my TARDIS but me!” 

“But you couldn’t, so I did for you. You’re welcome,” River dismissed. “Cursed ring, brings bad luck, but curses aren’t real, so that only means it’s booby trapped, but far too sophisticated a trap for the ancients, which means it was set by the person — or, judging by the duration of time such a task would take, the people — who want to collect all the bits, awake the dead king, and Bob’s your uncle!” 

The Doctor, eyes narrowed and arms crossed, was watching River like a hawk.

“Are you quite finished?” 

Slightly self-conscious, River nodded. Her doctor would’ve been proud of her. 

“Good. Now tell me — how did you know how to fix the radar?” 

River smiled that knowing grin of hers, and something in the Doctor’s chest seemed to coil up. Some part of him recognised her. Some part of him knew her, in every sense of the word. But he couldn’t remember, and so he deduced that she couldn’t have come from his past. She was a premonition; a memory all back-to-front in the wrong order.

“Spoilers,” she said.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” he asked her, circling where she stood. She matched him in pace — and, he figured, in just about everything else. She was clever and brave, with a razor-blade-sharp tongue and a mind as quick as a whip. He didn’t know how he knew her, but he certainly was glad that he did. “Or maybe...we’ve met after.” 

River’s smile faltered. “I plead the fifth. That’s an old American phrase, you know. Pertains to an amendment in the country’s very first Constitution. 1791. ‘No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime.’’’

“Infamous then, are you? Or criminal?” 

“Who, me?” River feigned an exaggerated innocence. 

The Doctor chuckled. “Atropa belladonna. Deadly nightshade. Lethal, but lovely.” 

“Bit misogynistic, that,” she clicked her teeth. “You really are a product of your day, Doctor. And besides, I never knew you to be such a flirt.” 

“But you have known me?” 

A smolder in River’s eyes. “Spoilers.” 

Oh, he liked her. She was trouble, but he really liked her. As far as strangers falling from the sky went, she was by far the best to have dropped in.

“You’ve got a problem, my dear,” he nodded toward the ring. “And how are you going to solve it?” 

“With your help, I’d like to think,” she said. “Osmium melts at 3,033 degrees. Lava’s lucky to be half that, so volcanoes are out. What we need, Doctor, is a sun.” 

“That’s your plan?” the Doctor scoffed. “Throw a timeless artifact into the sun?” 

River squared her shoulders. She rather liked her plan, and didn’t take too kindly to the fact that he pointedly did not.

“Well, it brings me terrible luck, so I hardly want to keep it, and the alternative is putting it back, where intergalactic treasure hunters could pick it up, add it to their collection, and unlock some ancient door, behind which stands a very angry king who, as it turns out, was not very kind to his wife.” 

“And what if the legends are wrong, eh?” he suggested. “The other artifacts might’ve been pawned off in auction; there’s a riveting black market trade for that sort of thing.” 

“And what if they aren’t wrong?” River countered. “Rather be safe than sorry, wouldn’t you?” 

“It just seems such a shame to destroy it!”

“Sometimes things have to be destroyed! You’ll understand that one day, Doctor; you’ll understand that sometimes, good things, beautiful things, innocent things have to be destroyed, so that life elsewhere can go on,” she hadn’t meant to shout, but she had, and he was looking at her with an expression she’d never seen on his face before — uncertainty. She recoiled. “Nevermind.” 

“No, no,” he eyed her. “You’re from my future. What do you mean?” 

“I can’t tell you that,” she said. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t. You know that.” 

The Doctor sat down and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do. But dark days are up ahead, are they?” 

River sat down beside him. She was forming a plan in her mind, how she’d erase his once they were done. She hated to do such a thing, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. He’d already learned too much just by getting a good look at her. It didn’t matter what else she told him, she figured, because he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Like the morning after a night out drinking — without any of the fun.

“I’m afraid so. But there are happy days, too,” she smiled kindly. “Days so bright they chase away that dreary darkness. You’ll make such wonderful friends, and have such marvelous adventures.”

The Doctor considered this, and then he smiled, too. “And where, my dear, do you fit into all that? Friend or foe?” 

“On a good day, neither,” River gave his knee a fond pat and stood up, stretching. “On a bad day, both.” 

She approached the console, punching in a slew of coordinated and inspecting the newly repaired radar. 

“What are you doing?” the Doctor demanded. “Where are we going?” 

“Eta Carinae,” River pulled down a lever, and the TARDIS gave a mighty roar. “One of the hottest stars in the universe. Burns hotter than 39,000 degrees. If anything can melt this old ring, it’s her.” 

“You think that’ll stop your string of bad luck?” 

River laughed. “It seems to have stopped already. But at least no one will ever be able to complete the collection and wake the king.” 

“You really believe that?” 

“Raise your heat shields, or else we’ll be gazpacho.” 

“Isn’t gazpacho _cold_ soup?” 

“Is it? Raise your shields, please.” 

“Right, right,” the Doctor pressed a few buttons, and the sun shields were up. “Do you make a habit of believing in these stories? I mean, they’re awfully silly, aren’t they?” 

“History is stories, Doctor,” River made her way over to the door. “Life is stories. We’re all stories, aren’t we? Some are harder to believe than others. Some are happy. Some are sad. Some are silly. But that doesn’t necessarily make them any less true.”

“Wise words,” he commended. “At least I know my future self has a discerning eye when it comes to his choice of acquaintances.” 

“How close can we get to the sun?” she asked him, happy to change the subject. “I’ve got a good arm, but no one’s _that_ good.” 

The Doctor, hovering over the console, paused to think. 

“I can get us pretty close if I keep us teetering in between reality phases,” he smiled. “It’s dangerous.” 

River beamed. “Oh, naughty man, it’s mad! And brilliant, but mostly mad.” 

“Mad enough for your madman, then?”

“Oh, certainly!” she laughed, but quickly sobered at the realisation of just how much she’d revealed. The Doctor was no fool — even if his coat made him look a bit like a jester. His eyes softened, and he tilted his head to the side. 

Her Doctor would’ve had a whole lot to say, but this one only muttered, “Hm.” 

“Right, then,” River cleared her throat. “Let me know when I’m clear to toss it. We’ve only got one shot, you know.” 

“Yes, of course,” the Doctor had turned his attention back to the monitor. “Get ready in three...two...go!” 

River threw open the door and, with a calculated toss, catapulted the old ring down onto the surface of the sun. The TARDIS’ gravity shields helped her out a bit, and maybe luck did, too. She felt the Doctor standing behind her, his breath warm against her neck as they watched it burn. 

“Well,” said the Doctor. “That’s that, isn’t it? It’s gone. No one will ever complete the collection, and dead things will stay forever dearly departed.” 

River giggled. This one did always have a flair for the dramatic.

“Yes,” she said. “I certainly hope so. Thank you for your help.” 

“Thank you, my dear, for a very interesting experience,” he held out his hand again, and when River took hold of it, a few seconds passed before she let go. “I take it you’re going to erase my memories, now?” 

River had been reaching for his temple in a gesture disguised as romantic, but he’d seen right through her. She laughed sadly.

“You know that I’ve got to.” Her Doctor had shown her what to do — a little added bonus that came with Time Lord DNA. If you ever meet me too out of order, he’d told her. This is what you do. 

“Yes,” agreed the Doctor. “It’s only sensible. Can I drop you somewhere first?” 

“Thank you, but this ought to be in proper working order now,” she held up her wrist, and her sleeve shifted down to reveal her vortex manipulator.

“I should’ve thought you’d have one of those,” he laughed. “Cheap and dirty time travel. Very archaeologist of you.” 

“Hey, now,” she teased, hands falling into place along his temples. She toyed lightly with a blonde curl, tucking it behind his ears. He really was quite lovely. A bit of a prick, a bit of a bastard with an ego the size of Jupiter, but it was all a facade. She knew a thing or two about facades herself. 

And then she was kissing him. She didn’t really mean to; it was just one of those things when you’re staring off into someone’s eyes, and suddenly you get to thinking about their lips, and then the next thing you know, one thing leads to another and boom. Kissing. 

And the Doctor was kissing her, too. He’d been right, somehow; her lips tasted like Earl Grey tea, and when he inhaled, he found that her curls carried in them the sweet, strangely familiar scent of lavender and patchouli, with just a touch of gunpowder. 

He felt River’s mind connect with his, prodding around in search of the tricky bits and extracting them with a surgeon’s accuracy. And then he felt nothing at all, and River was lowering his sleeping frame down onto the ground, one gentle hand cradling his head and another settled into the small of his back. 

She let him lay there — he could use a wink of sleep — as she made her way over to the console and punched in some coordinates, setting the TARDIS back on course and carrying it far away from the smoldering surface of the universe’s hottest sun. The Doctor would wake in the morning and wonder just how much he’d had to drink the night before, and he’d swear off Sentarion ale until further notice. 

But River Song had the memory of an elephant; she never forgot a face, least of all one of his. 

In her vortex manipulator, she typed in the coordinates to Luna University — it was the closest thing to home she figured she’d ever know. Readying herself to push the button on her wrist, she spared him one final, parting glance, and she smiled.

“See you in a few hundred years.”

And just like that, she was gone.


End file.
